Michael Egan

ceasefires stutter trying to say 'take care' to a girl who adjusts the waistband of her pinstriped pants

it turns as many as four times before I can pass, a none-biblical number, I am conscious of the distance between us

it seems safer in a tank than in a courtyard despite the view of the sea and the hills full of elevated threats

liquid becomes the weapon, water not of life but of something else as yet unconfirmed we fill plastic bags and lose our laptops

even on the pages of electronic secrets there are revelations in storage, these words wait for the setting down of wheels on tarmac or lips on lips

a shield is held out in an attacking gesture unexpected defeat delivered and in a toilet two strangers lie together waiting for the sea to wash into their prison

what prisons can withstand hurricanes murderers are given voices and hang with life in front of the camera, the silent image suggests nobility not crime

crimes differ from the scarring of artwork to the duplicity of an MP swingers parties may or may not have happened though she wears different styles of sunglasses each day

that confirms it, her knowledge of style is a sign of her incorruptible nature and she walks amongst the judged taking note of the pleats in their trousers

now panic controls the picture because the key clicks and does not turn there is a pressure against the door and darkness within, in that moment I whisper her name

using the same words in every piece dilutes the affect, shadows become light, whispers are shouts and if cats talk its only because someone wrote them that way

plans are made and decisions are given a date, a stamp is rolled across the plastic bags, in answer you say 'france' a pause 'it was ok'

for a whole nation to be described by that statement, no sign of burning no mark of rising nationalism or hint of the truth that the 'cheese could be strong or weak, I've never been there'

it is a collage of images moving with pace labels and icons mix together like tesco merging with sony or british airways and if one of them crumbles they'll all fall to enron

crumbles like a mint or teeth slowly turning to boredom, say crumble again and admit that you are creating the shadow of poetry, that these stanzas are collections of words not meanings

and somewhere rain falls heavier the impossible is vague and only suggested at, cities shake whilst their cathedrals of glass stand in the bay a child with more passion waits for the moment instead of coaxing it to him he does not tremble at the idea of light

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Michael Egan is a poet from Liverpool. His first collection of poetry was published in 2005.